Grief
by RebelByrdie
Summary: The Crime Lab has lost one of it's own and everyone is grieving. A collection of drabbles centering on the loss of someone special. Warning Charecter Death and Angst.
1. I: Guilt

Grief

A Collection of CSI Drabbles

By RebelByrdie

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, premises of or anything to do with the television show, CSI. I make no financial gain from the production of this twisted tale. All recognizable material is the property of the creators and the television networks who hold the contract rights there of. All "original" characters are fictional and any similarities to existing or deceased (or other fictional) persons is completely coincidental and no harm is meant.

**Rated T for Teen**

**Author's Note**: It's been a while since I've put out anything that wasn't massive. I just sort of wanted to get back to a simple, strait forward sort of writing. Obviously, I've not gotten out of my 'doom and gloom' kick, though I am working on it.

This is un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

I would love to hear feedback on this. Love it, hate it, who are you and what have you done with the real RebelByrdie, whatever pops into your head.

The following is a series of first person drabbles, each grieving over a loss. The identity of each person is rather self evident, but just in case:

I: Guilt - Nick Stokes

II: The Sketch Book - Sofia Curtis

III: The Tomorrow That Never Came - Gil Grissom

IV: Full Circle - Al Robbins

V: A Thousand Reasons - Catherine Willows

VI: My Girls Always Leave Me - Jim Brass

VII: Desert Sunset - Warrick Brown

VIII: You're Still Here - Greg Sanders

**Warning: **Character Death

_Guilt_

_I_

It's my fault. I let her down. I should have never let her go in there alone. I knew we were in a bad part of town, but I let my gut over ride my head. She went in while I was filling up both our cars. I was headed back to the lab with evidence and she was headed out with the tow crew to get the car. It was all business as usual.

Until those bastards in masks. I didn't notice them on the way in. I was cursing the oil companies as I watched the numbers add up. I saw them coming out, though. I heard the shots, so many gunshots and then I saw the perp run out, a bloody grocery sack of money in his hands, and jump in the car. For a moment I froze.

I am a CSI, a member of law enforcement, and I froze. My second's worth of hesitation may have been the second the paramedics needed to save her. I'll never forgive myself.

They all look at me, with something that's very close to hate simmering in their eyes. They know it's my fault, I know it's my fault. We just keep telling the lie, though. That damn lie keeps us going. The knowledge that she died saving someone else is somehow supposed to comfort me, or so they say. The truth is, when you get down to it. It's my fault. It should have been me. Sara Sidle didn't die protecting a little boy. She died getting me a microwave burrito and a Coke. It should have been me. I'm so sorry, Sunshine, it should have been me.


	2. II: The Sketch Book

_The Sketch Book_

_II_

The sketchbook was in the floorboard of the Denali. It was such a simple thing, the sort I carried to art class in high school. It was out of place though, with her collection of forensics tools, so I picked it up.

I opened it up to the first page and was immediately assaulted by a pen and ink version of Greg Sanders. It was not perfect, but there was talent in the sketchy lines that made up his face. It was a raw talent, one she'd never bothered to refine. That doesn't surprise me, though; she'd always had that quality. She'd always had that diamond in the rough feeling about her.

The three-quarters view caught the young CSI in his trademark grin, his hair askew and his eyes twinkling. She flipped the pages and saw a thoughtful Warrick, a sad Nick, Gil Grissom's stoic face, Brass's caring grin, Catherine Willows's trademarked glare and scowl, Doc Robbins raised eyebrows, Archie's shrug, Bobby's smile, Wendy's flirty smirk, Ecklie's sour face. Then I saw myself. My own face, at different angles, with different emotions: happy, sad, angry, pensive. It was a study of Sofia Curtis in black ink.

The book was filled with sketches, faces, places, and scenes. It was the Las Vegas Crime lab as captured by a lone artist. Each page was filled with talent, and compassion for the subjects, but it held a sense of loneliness and detachment. The artist had never truly felt connected to the world that they so faithfully drew.

I turned to the last page, it showed the Lab's lounge, in all it's messy glory. There were the boys, huddled around the television, game controllers in hand; there was Catherine, chatting with Grissom and in the middle of the chaos stood a lone figure. Sara Sidle, leaning against the counter sipping at her coffee, separate and alone.

I reverently caress the paper with a gloved finger, rubbing my thumb over the drawings sad face. Two teardrops, uncontrollable and heartbroken, fell and blurred the ink. Sara had been a wonderful artist, her great compassion for those around her came out in her collection of sketches.

A new pang struck me, almost physically doubling me over. The pain squeezed tight around my heart, making it hard to breathe. I watched David zip up the body bag and felt more tears escape my eyes. Sara had been a wonderful artist, but like most artists, she'd never been appreciated until after her death.


	3. III: The Tommorow That Never Came

_The Tomorrow That Never Came_

_III_

There was always tomorrow. It was this funny mantra I had. Had, past tense. I lost my hope for tomorrow the night I lost you. When I brought you to Vegas, and you smiled at me that first day, I smiled too. That was all I did, there was a case to work, besides I can catch up with you tomorrow.

Dinners were put off. Nights we could have spent together, things we could have done. There was always time, there was always tomorrow.

When I found out about Hank, I knew I needed to make a move, but I waited it out. The relationship ended, I should have been there for you. Catherine was, I was too afraid, I wanted to wait for tomorrow.

Tomorrows came and tomorrows went. I marked the days, weeks, months and years with cases, not anniversaries. There was always tomorrow. Your DUI, your suspension, Nick's kidnapping, there was always tomorrow.

You asked me again, right before it happened, you asked for that night and I said tomorrow, like I always did.

The tomorrow that never came. I ran out of tomorrows when that perp went into that 7-11 with a gun. I ran out of tomorrows when you pushed that little boy to the ground. I lost my tomorrow when I lost you.

Sara, I love you, and what I wouldn't give for just one more tomorrow with you.


	4. IV: Full Circle

_Full Circle_

_IV_

She probably would have found the irony amusing. Sara came to Vegas to investigate the shooting of Holly Gribbs, and now she's laying here on the same table. I hate this part of the job. I hate seeing people I know come through my doors. I saw David wiping tears when he wheeled in her body and now, poised to autopsy her, I feel a few of my own building behind my eyes.

Sara Sidle was a colleague and a friend. She was a good CSI and a wonderful person. It is rare that I recuse myself from a procedure, but staring down at her face, serene in death, I do so. I can't do it.

There are too many memories. Memories of the living woman here, in my autopsy bay. She was never put off by a corpse. If memory serves, she worked with the San Francisco ME once upon a time. She was smart and eager to learn. She shied away from nothing, even the most disgusting of decomps. I can remember her grinning, when I showed her something. I can remember her laughing when I told her about Ecklie's disappearing corpse. I can remember her alive. That's why I can't cut her open. Because unlike every other body that comes through me, she's not just another corpse. Sara Sidle is not just another case. She's a friend, and her ghost will haunt this morgue for a very long time.

She came to Vegas, to this very autopsy bay to investigate Holly's shooting, and as I watch David store her in a drawer for the Day Shift ME, I sigh. Sara came full circle in Vegas.


	5. V: A Thousand Reasons

_A Thousand Reasons_

_V_

They asked me to clean out her locker. None of them could bring themselves to do it. They think I hated her, and the truth is I wanted to. God, I wanted to hate her. There were a thousand reasons to hate her. I wanted to hate her for her youth, for her beauty, for her incredible mind. I wanted to hate her because of her dedication and passion. I wanted to hate her for being Grissom's favorite. I wanted to hate her for not closing Eddie's case. I wanted to hate her for her insubordination. I wanted to hate her for a thousand reasons.

I loved her for those same thousand reasons. I loved her smile; I loved the way her eyes would light up when she figured something out. I loved her for the way she would sing under her breathe and for the way that she'd push that same strand of hair behind her ear again and again.

Staring into the locker, the one with little pieces of Sara scattered around it, my heart breaks again. I'm finally able to hate her now, I hate her because she left me. She left me alone. She chose that little boy's life over her own. She had to be the hero she was born to be. She died without saying goodbye, and for that I think I'll always hate her.


	6. VI: My Girls Always Leave Me

_My Girls Always Leave Me_

_VI_

Daughters are too much heartache. First came Ellie, my little girl. She's not so little now, and as she spat at me before, she's not my little girl anymore. Then there was Sara. She wasn't just lonely, she was alone. We were alone together. It wasn't something we ever classified or even named, it just was. She was the only one to ever remember my birthday, and any time I needed a pick-me-up, like on Father's Day or Thanksgiving, she was there with that sweet smile of hers.

I don't think anyone really realized how alone she really was. Or if they did, they just didn't care. I noticed and I cared, and I made sure she knew it.

Who held her while she cried, when she lost hope when we couldn't find Nick? Who drove her home when she was too tired to be behind a wheel? Who checked on her after she couldn't close the Eddie Willows case? Who spent Christmas Day with her when everyone else was gone? Who made sure she went to her PEAP counselor meetings after her near DUI? Who was the first, and one of the only people, to congratulate her when she made CSI III? Me. She wasn't my surrogate daughter and I wasn't her father figure, we were father and daughter where it mattered, we were family of the heart.

Then, just like Ellie left me, so did she. She went out protecting a child. It was noble, it was brave, it should have never happened. Why did it have to be my girl? Why then? Why there?

Maybe it's my fault. I'm just not cut out to be a father. That has to be it, why else would my girls always leave me?


	7. VII: Desert Sunset

_Desert Sunset_

_VII_

Her memorial was today. We were all there, afterward, to release her ashes into the desert sunset. Those were her wishes. Sara didn't want fanfare or a grand memorial service with all the bells and whistles. She could have had all of that and more. None of us ever realized how much we loved her until she was gone. The worst part is, I don't think she did either.

I miss her, we all do. I keep waiting to turn a corner and find her hunched over a microscope, exhausting herself over a case. I think it didn't hit me, not until today that she's really gone. Someone, I'm not sure who, blew up a picture of her. It wasn't from her ID. I'd never actually seen it before. It was of Sara smiling, and not the fake smile that she put on for us at the lab, no this was a true, toothy grin. I've never seen that smile, but I don't think I've ever really done much to earn it. She'd always been the 'woman sent to investigate me' then she'd been 'Grissom's girl'. Now she's being called a fallen hero.

There were so many people at the memorial service. It was a simple set up, but it drew people from everywhere, and I mean everywhere. San Francisco, Las Angeles, Boston, New York, Hawaii, and one couple flew in from Ireland, just to say goodbye to Sara.

Goodbye. God, how can I say goodbye to her? It doesn't even feel like I knew her well enough. There were stories, stories about Sara. How is it that I found out more about her at her funeral then in the five years I knew her? I think all of us sort of felt that way, like we were just meeting her right then.

It was us, though, that she wanted to spread her ashes. It said it right there in black and white, in her chicken scratch scrawl, 'Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, Catherine Willows, Gil Grissom, Jim Brass, Sofia Curtis and Al Robbins.' She called us her nearest and dearest friends, her family.

Staring out at the desert sunset, watching her precious ashes float on the wind, I feel a tear slip down my cheek and I don't bother to wipe it away. Her family. She said she hadn't deserved us. No, we didn't deserve her, not for the five years we had her, not for five minutes. Yet, as undeserving and I was, I wanted more. All I got, all we all got, though, was the desert sunset.


	8. VIII: You

_You're Still Here_

_VIII_

I know you're still here, Sara. We couldn't get you to take a break for lunch, how could a little thing like death ever stop you?

Sometimes, when I'm working a tough piece of evidence, or a bad scene, I can feel you guiding me. Just like old times, huh. I know I'm not the only one. We all sense your presence. Sometimes Nick will turn to your empty chair, with a question on his lips, or Grissom will pause when giving out assignments, like he was about to pair you off with one of us. We left your coffee mug on the counter, right there where you always put it and your watch is still on top of the TV where you left it that night.

Sometimes I swear I can still hear your half whispered songs echoing through the halls. I always expect to see you in the garage, wearing coveralls, grinning like a madwoman while you threaten some innocent car with a power tool. I see your phantom every time I turn around. I catch a glimpse of brown hair or a grin in the dim reflection off of the glass walls.

We all know you're still here, watching over us. You're our Guardian Angel, just like you were that little boy's. You were a hero. Grissom said that's how you would have wanted to go. I shook my head and grinned when he said that. Your ashes may be blowing in the wind, Sara, but you're still here.

_Fin_

Author's Note: I made myself sniffle a couple of times. A little bit of GSR, a little bit of CS and, of course, a lot of angst. I'd love to hear feedback on this. I rarely do first person, and it's even rarer I do Nick, Greg and Doc Robbins.

Thanks for Reading


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